


Routine

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pet Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptor craves routine; Drift's spark is chaotic. Together, they are the perfect storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine

Routine, or the preservation of it, was the end goal for most of Perceptor’s actions. A reasonable enough habit, considering his pre- and post-war function was much the same. Even during the personal crises he experienced through the war, routine had provided the stability upon which his sanity had been maintained- with a great deal of assistance from Drift, he had to admit. Though Drift’s chaotic spark and violent tendencies might logically mark him as an unfit friend and partner, the swordsmech had embodied the ideals Perceptor had desperately and secretly clung to, and thus an instrument of death had been transformed into a vehicle of security. In turn, Perceptor’s practicality had provided Drift with much-needed stability.

Separate, Perceptor and Drift were, colloquially, a complete  _mess_. Yet, fitted together, close and sharing without boundaries, they were the most efficient- and happy- team Perceptor had ever observed.

There were times, however, Drift’s unpredictability frustrated the scientist, just as Perceptor’s need for itineraries annoyed his mate. Within these itchy conflicts they had found compromises, slotting together promises and reassurances that smoothed the edges where they clashed.

Tonight was just such an occasion: a rare treat Perceptor had planned for them both. He had dimmed the lights before sinking into his side of the berth, a sure sign he was not working tonight, and fortunately Drift picked up on this hint the moment he came through the door. The immediate grin as Drift tugged off his weapons was further reassurance his mate knew Perceptor’s intent focus on his data pad was merely a ruse. Predictably, Drift nudged Perceptor’s arms wide and settled in his lap facing him, that eager grin widening.

“This seat taken?” Drift purred, reaching up to wrap his arms around Perceptor’s neck.

True to the game, Perceptor finally glanced up with a well-practised frown. “It is not. However, I must insist you vacate it, as it is reserved for the mech whose designation is ‘Drift’.”

Drift blinked twice, a tint of uncertainty bolting through their overlapped fields.

Perceptor had to devote considerable resources to keeping his expression steady; that slight pout drove him  _crazy_ , and Drift knew it. He lifted one hand, tapping a finger lightly at the base of Drift’s throat. “As you lack the proper equipment and identification tags, I must ask you to immediately disembark from the, ah, seat.”

Recognition lit Drift’s optics and he shot off the berth in one fluid movement, halfway disappearing underneath the adjacent desk. Perceptor opened his mouth to call him back, but the sight of the carefully waxed red and white aft swaying pointedly in the air gave him pause. Settling against the wall again, he watched with a hungry gaze as Drift rummaged rapidly through a series of drawers. 

A frustrated noise, then Drift turned and dove under the small space beneath the berth, just the apex of his aft visible now. 

Perceptor lightly fingered his discarded data pad, patient and still.

Only a klik later, and Drift emerged with a wail and balled fists. The muttered curses were in several languages, a scattered few Perceptor didn’t recognise. When Drift whirled twice and started for the shelving on the far side of the room, Perceptor gave a gentle cough.

Drift froze, glancing over his shoulder in question. “What?” he snapped.  
  
Perceptor folded his hands in his lap, tilting his gaze down demurely to the berth, where a select group of items were waiting. Once again Drift’s optics flared, though this time he threw himself toward Perceptor with a frustrated cry, fumbling with the worn leather and thick slick clasps.

“I had it waiting for you,” Perceptor murmured as Drift fussily climbed over his legs again. 

“Why didn’t you  _say_ so?” Drift huffed, folding his lanky limbs over Perceptor’s and placing his hands on the wide glassed chassis. “I was just starting to really panic, I could’ve sworn I left it where you told me to store it last time…”

“I was-,” Perceptor’s gaze swept over Drift in a long, pointed gesture, “-too enamoured of the view.”

It took only a second for Drift’s finials to begin tinting pink. Perceptor chuckled, reaching up again to straighten the black collar now linked around Drift’s neck, thumbing the circular tag. “ _'Drift: property of Perceptor of Cybertron, #3991.04.20.1983’,_ ” he read aloud. “Excellent, everything seems to be in order. Welcome back, pet.”

The adorable pout melted into a content smile as Drift leaned in, replacing his arms around Perceptor’s neck and laying against him- strategically rubbing their warming panels together, Perceptor noticed. His voice was a low, inviting rumble against Perceptor’s audial, “Good to be back.. master.”

Perceptor slid his hands around the slender waist, gripping at back kibble as he sighed and relaxed against the wall. There was always a time and place for routine, but with Drift? It was best to plan only so far.


End file.
